Blurred Edges
by apathyburger
Summary: It was exactly 9:13 and 26 seconds when the lights went out. Remy-slash-it'sabloodymystery


It was exactly 9:13 and 26 seconds when the lights went out. Remy knew this because he had been looking at his watch when the living room plunged into darkness, and everyone silenced. The only sounds were the juniper trees tapping against the tall windows and rain smacking into the skylight. There was another lightening stroke and then the low rumble of thunder that reminded Remy of his father after he had a few drinks. Lightening could be his mother. A flash of a memory and she was gone.  
  
"Kurt, would you mind?" came the Professor's voice in the quiet. There was a small *ping* sound and the odor of brimstone permeating the room as Kurt went to check the circuit breakers. Softly people began to relax, laugh and excuse each other of being afraid of the dark. Remy chose instead to remain still for a moment, no longer leaning against the wood paneling, letting his eyes and ears adjust to the change in situation, to take in the blurry figures that all had become. Masks seemed real now, as real as cloth and rubbed could be. Occupants of Professor Xavier's School stumbled about, bumping into furniture, gripping onto one another's costumes, careful not to rip thin fabrics.  
  
This would all be funnier if he were drunk, decided Remy as he lifted the wine glass of Perrier to his mouth in a quick toast to the Masquerade Ball. But the Professor had insisted and for once, Remy played by the rules. Someone pushed into him and as Remy began to protest the slosh against his costume, he felt lips against his. Just as he raised a few fingers to caress a cheek the figure stepped away and back into the shadowy mass of people. Confused, Remy rubbed his index finger and thumb together, felt the gritty sand of glitter there. He shrugged, drained his glass (fought the urge to throw it against the window like a bad Western) and headed into the center of the room, feeling his way about the furniture, making up his mind not to think about the phantom lips. Well, not think of them too much.  
  
It couldn't have been the Professor or Marie he decided as he searched out a full bottle, preferably something at least mildly intoxicating. The figure hadn't smelled of cigars so that ruled out Logan. The forehead pressed gainst his hadn't been hindered by a visor- Scott was a no also. The easy to eliminate, gone.  
  
He fell on the couch and sipped his drink, almost choked. He hated root beer. The very idea of it was misleading and disappointing. "Hey, chere!" he complained as he felt someone start to sit on top of him.  
  
Jean slipped off him and onto the next cushion, giggling madly. "It's funny Remy, this is funny," she said, sounding a bit hysterical.  
  
"Jean? Are you alright, chere?" She nodded, a motion Remy caught as he cupped her cheek in one hand; she seemed sobered by the touch. "It's just, it's a bit like the asylum. I never liked the dark." She picked at the skirt of her witch costume, as Remy rubbed her shoulder. Scott appeared, pulling Jean into his arms as he sat down, whispering in her ear as she clung to his Captain Fantastic costume. Remy edged off, uncomfortable. Jean matched him in height whereas the Phantom Kisser (he was already thinking in capital letters as there was no other name by which to call her or him by) had been slightly shorter, and besides it was doubtful Jean would leave the center of the room to seek him out in the dark.  
  
Her or him. That was an issue to be considered. Remy made no secret his sexuality or his past but as far as he knew, he was the only one who flirted with both girls and guys when he went to bars (not that anyone was to know Remy went to bars, as the Professor was a big believer in drinking ages, something that eluded Remy by a good four years).  
  
Yet another issue, Remy reasoned, was whether the kiss was a kiss or not. He knew it was a kiss, of course, but the question remained of whether it was a kiss for him. He was the only one with red eyes at the school, yes, but it was dark. Maybe he had let go of his control for a moment and someone had felt his Charm. His damn Charm. Perhaps that was the root of this also, as it was the root of other things- his father coming into his room at nights, the darkened alleyways where he'd be grabbed and silenced; his Charm had never done Remy much good.  
  
Remy swallowed hard. He hated thinking of his father. He hated thinking of the past. Perhaps that was why cards had always held such an appeal for him- he didn't need to think when shuffling or playing, or burning them. They were as they were, as they were meant to be, drawn to be and their blank faces had nothing to say to him; sometimes that wasn't a bad thing. Standing, Remy slipped out of the room and headed for the kitchen. He found a candle and lit it, then opened the refrigerator. If power was blown that meant he should do his part to help by making his way through foods that would spoil. Starting with the beverages. He fingered the wine bottles then chose one at random. He walked onto the porch, sitting on the swing there. Pulling out the cork he took a sip. Red wine. That was the proper drink for now. Although he knew he displayed alcoholism tendencies, Remy at least knew that wine drinking was as much of an art as it was a sophisticated way to get drunk. He placed the wine bottle on the floor next to the candle, pulled out his cards and began to shuffle. Phantom Kissers were more trouble than they appeared to be. Reaching up he pulled the metal bolts from where they were glued to his neck; the silver reflected the light of his eyes as they rolled in his hand. He placed them in his pocket.  
  
"So Frank," said Bowie, wooden boards creaking under his feet as he came to sit next to Remy. "Nice evening?"  
  
"Could have fared worse chere." Remy held his cards in one hand, reached down and picked up the bottle. He held it out to Bowie (bad form to take the first drink) who took it and held it to his mouth gulping down a bit. Wiping a stain from his mouth with the back of one hand he passed it back to Remy who drank and remained resting his weight on his knees, his back curling. He watched as another streak of lightening split clouds in half and counted off automatically- One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand- thunder.  
  
"Would have thought the Professor planned the black out- it fit in so well." Remy shivered slightly in the frosty October air. Perhaps it was past midnight and November now. He passed the bottle back and watched Bowie take another draught. The next lightening streak showed his hair to be spiked and red, dyed and where his fingertips rested upon the bottle, there was frost. 'Bobby,' thought Remy. "I should go back in. They're sent everyone to their rooms." There was another flash of lightening and as Bobby turned his head, Remy thought he saw sparkles. Bobby walked inside, creaking lightly.  
  
Remy took another drink, running his hand through hair stiffened by green dye, that still somehow felt slightly into his eyes and curled. Bobby? But... Bobby? Even his name sounded wholesome and All American- it had to be his Charm. There was no other explanation. Except- no. Bobby wasn't like that- he couldn't be like that, could he? Blowing out the candle first, Remy finished the wine and threw the bottle out into the darkness, waiting to hear the sound of it breaking. There was only a small thump though- and the wet sound of the bushes catching the thick glass. He turned and headed inside, the Mansion silent. He kept to the center of the hall- it was easier to find his way about then, though he could have easily lit a card or something of that sort. He paused when he came to Bobby's door. 'Fuck it,' he thought and knocked. There was no answer and rather than giving in and just going to his room and reading pulp by candle light, Remy opened the door. Bobby lay on his bed, moving his hand across his bare chest, writing something. He was cocooned inside a sharp edged bubble, a foreign geometric shape of ice; the thousands of sides formed a thousand and one mirrors and glass windows, some fogged, others clear. Pressing his hand to the ice, Remy melted his way through; stepping into the small cell of space Bobby had allotted himself.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, Bobby jerk and standing up quickly. Across his chest were words and designs in lipstick and eyeliner. His own eyes were dark circles of kohl, his lips still outlined in black pencil.  
  
"I...I... I'm redrawing myself. Jean gave me the make up for the Bowie outfit so I thought maybe I, I could just redraw myself the way I'm supposed to be, should be. Like, like in Johnny Quest, when the cartoonists decided he need updating so they used CG and hand drawn stuff to make him look cooler, so he wouldn't be obsolete. Or with Superman, taking away some of his powers so he was more human. Just, redrawing." 'STRAIGHT' was written upside down across Bobby's naval and noticing that Remy stared there; Bobby nervously crossed his arms, rubbing his skin to make glitter fall to the floor. His fingers smeared the eye drawn on one shoulder and the rain (tear? blood?) drop on the other; HOMONORMAL was written across his chest, the black eyeliner clumped over one nipple and fading into an armpit.  
  
"Bobby..."  
  
"Please, don't tell anyone. And especially not my parents, they, would never forgive me for being so grossly off whatever they said I could grow up to be; this isn't being a doctor or a lawyer or.... They don't even know I'm a mutant and to..."  
  
"I won't... I just, I came to apologize."  
  
"What?" Bobby sounded as if he'd cry and despite the uneasy air of the room, Remy knew he couldn't leave. Not now. Not when Bobby looked at him with eyes so wide, not when he looked so scared.  
  
"I thought, my Charm had maybe... you kissed me in the dark."  
  
"I, I'm sorry! It's just-"  
  
"It's ok, mon ami. It's ok. You don't have to redraw yourself for me. You're fine with the blurred edges and superpowers." Bobby sniffled. Remy stepped forward and gathered him into his arms, Bobby sinking. Sitting on the floor with Bobby curled and shivering in his arms Remy rocked for a moment, then spied the lipstick on the floor. He stretched out and picked it up, then turning Bobby' chin so his face stared at him, his blue eyes meeting Remy' red ones; he rubbed it onto Bobby's lips, then bent his head down and kissed him. 


End file.
